quad, and I’m due in the admin office, anyway, for my work-study shift. It’s a favor they throw at all the scholarship kids, an after-school job that earns us spending money to cover extras, like Cougar Points for the convenience store, and school trips. I can’t miss my shift. I need every penny.
My phone is still in my pocket when I arrive at Austen Hall, breathless, waving at Cathy, the administrative assistant who mostly looks the other way while I use my job time to study. She’s a good egg, but at the moment she’s casting a tight smile at the pair from the parent tour I ran into earlier.
“I hope I answered all your questions! Have a wonderful day! Bye!”
Birkin bag and Rolex turn to leave, though I can tell they had more questions. Probably about how their precious angel will handle things like remembering to do their homework and laundry. Laundry service for freshmen comes on Mondays, I have memorized, and it flows off the tongue so easily. I’m sure they’ll have no trouble managing their own academics, less so, when what I want to say is, They’ll figure it the fuck out—they’re fifteen, not five! I duck my head as they pass so they can’t rope me into a Q and A. Cathy’s shoulders decline a good two inches as she greets me.
“Thank goodness you’re here. We’re already receiving the calls, and Headmistress Fitzgerald has locked herself in her office, not to be disturbed, as usual.”
I shrug out of my cold-weather gear and dump my backpack next to the spare desk where I sit. I know the drill after two years of ED days at Claflin. The irate calls from entitled helicopter parents roll in right after the early decisions.
Even without college rejections at hand, the parents routinely call to shout, I PAY SIXTY-FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS A YEAR FOR THIS SCHOOL! through the phone line when they are displeased. I have heard those exact words more than once. I’m often tempted to thank the apoplectic parents profusely for their tuition—their generosity helps in part to pay mine.
But I would never dare be so glib. Not today. The phone rings, shredding already-delicate nerves, and I jump into action. Yes, we understand you are upset; no, you cannot speak to the headmistress at this time. Kill them with kindness but remain firm. Promise to take down their details and Headmistress Fitzgerald will give them top priority as soon as possible. With each call, as I try to coax them off the line so I can gain a reprieve, I stare at my phone, lying facedown on the desk in front of me. I had to turn it over so I would stop fingering the power button and compulsively swiping at the email subject line. I missed what Mrs. Feldstein was yelling at me more than once and had to ask her to repeat herself, only making her more upset.
The calls come fast and thick for almost an hour, until finally there’s a break. Guess those moms are giving their lawyers a call about suing Claflin, as promised. In the lull, I finally grab my phone. I spy Cathy, still consoling someone in her soft, grandmotherly way. She’s a pro at talking people down. When she’s not paying attention to me, I slip into the faculty lounge and shut the door.
I tap into Gmail. It’s bold and screaming at me, the email from Harvard. I try not to look at the preview text; a part of me still wants to put this off as long as possible. I’ve already waited this long, right? But my traitorous eyes flick across the screen.
I don’t understand the words I see. They make no sense. I read them again.
It is our pleasure to inform you…
Holy shit, I got in.
My first thought is that there must be some mistake. They emailed me instead of Avery. Girls like Avery get in. Girls like me…
We scheme to apply behind our friend’s back and then we steal her spot.
And immediately the happiness pricking at my insides sours, and I come crashing to the ground. What have I done? How is this even possible?
You have the fifth-highest GPA in your class, two Gold Circle Awards from Columbia Scholastic Press Association. You write for High School Insider at the Los Angeles Times and attended the Medill-Northwestern Journalism Institute summer program, I remind myself. I am worthy. More than good enough.
But I didn’t really believe it until this moment.
The